I See the Light
by Bukkunkun
Summary: Alfred is an ophthalmologist that meets Arthur, a blinded victim of a vicious shooting-cum-car crash. As he attempts to heal him, they end up falling in love. Written for Day 3 of the USUK Summer Camp 2012. USUK, fleeting Aus/Hun. Hospital!AU


Day 3 of the Summer Camp! ... And I'm already tired, gosh. /sobs

* * *

"_Angus_!"

The screeching of tires—gunshots—someone _screaming_—

Arthur shot upright, a scream tearing out painfully from his dry, constricting throat, fear stabbing into his heart as he looked around the blackness around him, wide-eyed with fear. His heart leapt into his throat and he scrabbled to get out of wherever he was—he groped around him and felt sheets. He was in a bed?

"Hey, hey, calm down," a man's voice said from beside him, but when he turned to look; only blackness greeted him. He felt a warm hand on his arm, but it did nothing to calm him down as he flinched away, panic rising in his veins.

"Wh-where am I?" he demanded, practically screaming as he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. "Wh-where are my brothers?"

"… They're okay," the voice gently told him, and a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around him in a tight, protective embrace. _You're okay, it's alright, you're going to be fine, no one's going to hurt you—_

"… Why can't I see anything?" Arthur asked shakily, as he gripped the man's arm tightly, scrabbling for purchase. "Wh-why is it so _dark_, please, t-turn the lights on, please—"

"… Arthur, I'm sorry, but you aren't able to see any more." The voice said in his ear, apologetic, sad and gentle, like as if the man was afraid he would scare Arthur away by merely the sound of his voice. "You've been blinded, I'm afraid."

"...Blinded? No longer able to see? That's impossible, that _has_ to be impossible, _please_," Arthur pleaded, but the man held him tighter, his embrace a gesture of comforting. "… No. _No_."

"I'm sorry."

Tears gathered at his eyes—his unseeing, _blind_ eyes—and rolled down his cheeks as shock, horror, mortification and despair flooded his senses, and Arthur did nothing to hold his tears back, allowing himself to sob with abandon into the man's shoulder.

It had taken Arthur a long time to calm down, but the entire time, the man stayed with him, just comforting him quietly by his side. Now that his mind had cleared somewhat (however, still filled with _I'm blind, can't see, blind, no sight blindblindblind__**blind**_) Arthur was sure he had gotten the man's shoulder thoroughly wet as he had sobbed in it, so he blindly reached out to touch it, and his fingers came in contact with wet cloth.

"Oh, hey. You feeling better?"

Gingerly, Arthur nodded, "I'm sorry for getting your clothes wet." He apologised, and he heard the man chuckle, before a warm hand ruffled his hair.

"It's okay. Everyone would react like that if _they_ were blinded like you were."

Arthur pursed his mouth and lowered his head.

"Ah, shit, sorry, I shouldn't have said. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!"

"… It's alright." Arthur said after a long while. "I'll be stuck like this forever, anyway."

"Actually, no." the man said, and Arthur's eyebrows lifted in hope. "Well, in theory, anyway." Arthur's shoulders slumped, and he felt the man pat the both of them heavily. "Hey, don't be so discouraged! You see, there's a chance that I might be able to restore your eyesight! Isn't that great?"

"… You?" Arthur asked, cocking his head.

"O-oh, that's right, I haven't introduced myself yet." He felt the man grasp his hand and shake it. He shook it back. "Hey. It's nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Alfred F. Jones, but you can call me Al if you want to."

"I'd rather Alfred, thank you." Arthur nodded. "Are you my doctor, Alfred?"

"Well, not really, I'm your ophthalmologist, but your recovery doctor's name's Ludwig Weillschmidt. Your psychiatrist's Francis Bonnefoy."

"Whatever do I need a psychiatrist for?" Arthur asked. "I'm perfectly fine."

"No, you're not, actually. You're supposed to be in shock."

Arthur pursed his lips, before thinking about the last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness.

Gunshots. Skidding tires. Screaming.

Arthur's eyes widened, even if he couldn't see from them.

"Where are my brothers?" he held Alfred's hand tightly, shaking slightly. He felt Alfred's other hand run down his back in a soothing manner. "M-my brothers, Alfred. Angus, Seamus, Dean, and Peter, oh _God_, where's Peter?"

"Well, about that…" Alfred paused for a moment. Arthur heard the rustle of clothing. Was Alfred scratching the back of his head? "… Look, this is going to be difficult for you, but—"

"Where. Are. My. Brothers, Alfred?" he punctuated each word firmly, and the doctor next to his bed sighed.

"Angus lost an eye. Peter needs surgery." Arthur's mouth hung open in shock.

"What about Seamus and Dean…?"

"… I'm sorry, but they didn't make it."

Arthur's mind was reeling from shock, but oddly he remained eerily calm. "May I talk to Angus, then?"

"Sorry, pal, but he just left the country."

The pressure was too much, _far _too much for Arthur to handle. For the second time that day, Arthur's shattered life broke into more impossibly smaller shards.

* * *

"Arthur, please eat something." Alfred's voice pleaded him from somewhere from his right. "You gotta."

Arthur turned his head away, his heart heavy, yet his mind turbulent like a storm that tore apart his mind bit by bit.

How could Angus have left him and Peter here behind, now even more so, at the time they needed him the most? He couldn't understand why. Was there something to be ashamed of? Could he be possibly blaming himself for what happened to Seamus and Dean?

Arthur suddenly felt the prick of a needle in his arm, and he jolted in alarm, turning his head to the direction he last heard Alfred, who had fallen silent.

"Wh-what did you do to me?" he demanded.

"It's an IV. You know, since you wouldn't eat." Alfred's detached voice explained, as Arthur felt a foreign liquid flow into his arm. "You're going to make this hard on yourself."

"You aren't exactly helping," Arthur snapped, and he felt the man's fingers on his arm jolt away. He sighed. "_Please_, could you just… leave me alone? Just for now. Let me have some time to think."

The man hesitated for a moment, but he eventually said yes, before the tell-tale sound of the door opening and closing indicated that the man had left the room. After waiting a minute to make sure Alfred was gone, Arthur lay back in the bed, and cried, cried and cried.

* * *

Alfred closed the door behind him, a frown on his face. This did _not _turn out very well. He looked back at the door, before shaking his head, walking away.

* * *

Hours ago, handling the public was a _nightmare_. Alfred and his nurse Elizaveta did their best to help out Dr. Weillschmidt handle the throng of journalists and police, though they were the brothers' doctors as well. They were worn out by the time the last of the people (media men and police men alike) had filed out of the hospital. Tired, Alfred looked back at the ER where the five young brothers were rushed to, and with a sigh, he slumped over to the nurse station, where one of the male nurses Elizaveta was dating, Roderich, looked at him with his elegant eyebrow curved upwards like he was judging the young doctor.

"Yes, Dr. Jones?"

"I want to go see Angus Kirkland. I need to see if he's recovered somewhat." Alfred sighed, "And then I need to see Arthur Kirkland's papers. The blunt force trauma to the back of his head looks severe, I'm thinking nerve damage."

"It _is_ nerve damage, actually," Roderich replied, handing him two pristine white folders he pulled out of one of the shelves behind him. "Optic. Dr. Honda already ran some tests. Your call." He said.

"He's been blinded?" Alfred clicked his tongue, looking through the papers before nodding. "He's not going to take this very well." he muttered, before walking away.

* * *

"Mr. Kirkland, hello." Alfred greeted as he entered the room, spotting the fire-red-haired man sitting up in his bed, looking around with his only good eye. "Thank goodness you made it."

"My brothers. How are they?" Angus said, his Scottish accent much thicker in a flurry of dark emotion, but irrevocably laced with worry for his family.

"… Well." Alfred bit his lip. "I'm sorry, but unfortunately, Dean and Seamus were dead on arrival."

Angus' eye darkened, and his hands balled into fists in the bed sheets. "Arthur and Peter?"

"They're okay," Alfred said, "Peter needs surgery, and well, it's just been confirmed that Arthur's suffered some severe head trauma." Angus' eye widened and he looked at Alfred in alarm. "Well, he's in a coma right now, and we've confirmed his optic nerves have been damaged."

"… He's blinded." Angus merely stated, and Alfred nodded, biting his lip. The man fell silent, and the two of them sat there in awkward silence.

"Uh, I need to go," Alfred said, getting up, but Angus paid no attention to him. Forehead creasing in worry, he headed out the door.

* * *

When Alfred first saw Arthur, he couldn't help but notice how… ethereal the man looked unconscious, like a pale delicate fairy that was simply sleeping. He resisted the urge to run his fingers through the man's hair and along the smooth, unblemished skin of the man's cheeks.

When Arthur's eyes opened, Alfred found himself staring at a pair of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen—vibrant green like grass in a spring field, greener than his mother's emeralds—and yet, they were unfocused, unseeing—_blind_.

That was when he _knew_ he was doing the right thing, signing up for the nerve restoration project alongside his long-time colleague Dr. Kiku Honda. Together they were going to give Arthur his eyesight back, and damn it all, Alfred will make _sure_ Arthur sees again, just to have the chance to see life in those beautiful gemstone greens again.

Alfred hadn't realised something important, though. He had irrevocably fallen in love with his patient.

Day after day, he would spend his free time with the blonde man, talking to him about anything and everything—but carefully avoiding the issue of Angus' disappearance. In the time he had talked to the blind patient, he learnt that the man had a terribly pessimistic opinion of the world, something Alfred was determined to change.

"Peter's getting better," Alfred said to Arthur one time, his hand loosely balled in the sheets of Arthur's bed, "I'm pretty sure next week, he'll be able to see you."

"I see." Arthur simply nodded.

"Chin up. I'm sure everything's going to be fine."

"_Fine_? Alfred, _nothing_ is ever going to be fine." Alfred winced at the sudden sharp tone of the man's voice. "I've lost two brothers—_family_—in a shootout between utterly selfish people that have apparently no qualms with involving bystanders, I've been _blinded_," Alfred began to speak, but Arthur shook his head, "Don't give me that 'you'll get better' bollocks, the both of us _know_ what you're doing is impossible, and most importantly, I've been _abandoned_, abandoned by one of the people I've depended on ever since our parents died. Alfred, _nothing_ will ever be fine again. Nothing."

Alfred gritted his teeth in anger and grabbed Arthur's hands.

"What are you doing, you git?"

"Listen here, Arthur," he growled, "I've got my own share of shit in my life. My dad died in service in Afghanistan, my mother was an alcoholic, and worst of all, my brother—my own _twin brother_, Arthur, I had to euthanize him myself when we were trapped in a hostage taking of one of the hospitals I used to work to." His voice shook as he forced himself to pull up the memory of the sight of blood, too much blood, all over his hands, the sound of fire crackling in the background, people wailing far below him, and the feel of a warm body turning cold in his arms. "But I'm still here, because I believe things _can _get better."

Arthur was frozen in place, and gingerly, his hands gripped Alfred's.

"Trying to see it your way," Alfred laughed bitterly, "How can something break when it's already broken?"

"… Oh, Alfred. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I got over it." Alfred sighed, shoulders slumping. Gently, he rested his elbows on Arthur's thigh. "See? We're both broken. I understand what you're going through. But you need to stay strong if you're going to make it through. Don't you have someone you still live for?"

Arthur's lip wobbled and his unseeing eyes filled up with tears.

"Yeah, Peter." Alfred nodded, "You got to stay strong for him. If not for me, then for him."

Arthur nodded, biting his lip as tears spilled down his cheeks. Gently, Alfred wiped them away, earning him a jolt of surprise from Arthur at the sudden contact, but the blonde relaxed anyway. Feeling a rush of boldness wash over him, Alfred leaned forward and gently brushed his lips over Arthur's forehead. Surprise, his patient lifted his hand, brushing his fingers over the top of his forehead.

"… Did you just kiss me?" Arthur asked, and Alfred blushed, slightly grateful Arthur couldn't see his reddened face.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Alfred said, pulling away from Arthur, before heading towards the door.

"A-Alfred! Wait!" Arthur called after him, reaching out to him, but he was already gone.

* * *

The next few days were spent in awkward conversation about anything but the rush of boldness Alfred was now ashamed he did, he was Arthur's _doctor_, damn it all, he wasn't supposed to be even _talking_ about Matthew, for crying out loud—

"Alfred? I've been thinking." Arthur spoke up, "About… a lot of things."

"Really?"

"I think I can get used to this," he gestured uselessly at his eyes, "M-my eyes, and everything." Alfred gaped at him, "But I'm not backing away from the prospect of having them back, I just… I've accepted it."

"That's great, Arthur." Alfred smiled, and Arthur's hands lifted to his face, his fingertips caressing over Alfred's face, tracing over the shape of his cheeks, soft touches brushing over his lips, tracing out his smile. "Arthur?" he asked, as Arthur's palms cupped his cheeks.

"You have a lovely smile." Arthur smiled gently, hands coming to a rest on Alfred's shoulders. "I wonder how it would look like."

"Do you want to see?"

"Yes, please." Arthur chuckled, and Alfred smiled softly, grasping Arthur's hands with his and guiding it to his mouth, gently pressing Arthur's soft palm on top of it, smiling into Arthur's palm. "Yes. Lovely."

"You have a beautiful smile, did you know that?" Alfred asked, "It's not just me."

"Oh, I don't know. My brothers would tell me…" he trailed off, his hand lowering from Alfred's mouth, and Alfred squeezed it gently to encourage him. "My brothers would tell me I scowl too much. I don't smile enough."

"You can smile now. You have all the time in the world to."

"Yes, I do, don't I? Even if I can't see it for myself."

Alfred nodded, despite the fact he knew Arthur couldn't see him. "I promise you, I'll do whatever I can in my power to bring you your eyesight back."

Arthur sighed, smiling. "Yes. Thank you."

There was something swelling in Alfred's chest—happiness? Delight? He leant forward and before he could think about what he was doing, he pressed his lips against Arthur's.

He felt the blonde man jolt under him, and he made a move to pull away when Arthur's hands snaked around the back of his neck (blindly hitting the side of his neck in the process) and deepened the kiss.

He smiled into the kiss, and he felt Arthur smile back.

They pulled away, Alfred looking down at Arthur to see the blonde's cheeks had tinted a pink hue.

"Promise."

* * *

Years later, Angus had come back from long years abroad, working day and night to be able to pay for the hospital bills and their debts—that was why he had disappeared all those years ago.

Peter came back, unscathed save for the scars around his midsection that he bore proudly like a peacock and its beautiful feathers, more proud than anything of his scars that shaped him into something better than he was before.

One irrevocable thing, however, was Seamus and Dean's presence in Arthur's life, but it was something he embraced with open arms, for it was something he had accepted long ago that it was out of his hands.

And the best thing of all—the best thing that could ever happen to him—

His eyesight came back, with something brighter and better:

The light.

The light he could finally see.

* * *

So, uh. Literal taking of the meaning, or did I just screw up? I have no idea. /sobs

Ughh, I'm actually really, really, unsatisfied with this, but oh well. What do you guys think?

If I have the last straw, however, I'm redoing the fuck out of this.

Well, the blinded-by-destroyed-optic-ganglion!Arthur trope is something I've always wanted to play with, so whoop-de-doo. I'll try to do better next time /sob.

See you tomorrow, everyone!


End file.
